


It's About Time John

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock TV
Genre: M/M, Violence, Whipping, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-16 22:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Sherlock makes John tell him out loud that he loves him. An unconventional method is used.





	It's About Time John

**Author's Note:**

> Violence is used. Whipping.

It's early morning, and I hear John fussing in the bathroom. I've been up most of the night and frustrated with events between John and I. He's taken it into his head to be angry with me, and I have no idea why and can't deduce what I've done.

* * *

With a sigh, I decide it's time to take matters into my own hands. Either John will admit his feelings for me, or he'll have to leave.

I find it emotionally difficult to love this man and have him unable to think through his preoccupation with his sexuality. He likes women but I know he loves me.

Trouble is, he's so afraid of announcing he's in love with a man. Sex is straightforward with him. Either he's heterosexual or he's gay. He's both.

Time to end this one way or another. What I'm about to do will hurt me emotionally but John will have to come to grips with who he loves. I can't live with him anymore in the same flat.

* * *

I strip my clothes off, leave them on the sofa and walk to the bathroom.

* * *

John is brushing his teeth, as I open the door, and he's butt naked to my eyes. His head swivels around surprised, "What the-"mouth full of toothpaste, spitting it out, as I move a hair's breadth from my body touching from behind him. 

My right arm swings around to John's front. My fingers find his nearly flaccid dick. I play with it delicately, trying not to let my emotions run wild. Swatting my hand away, his anger grows. I can feel his body stiffen.

          "It's about time John."

* * *

          "What the effing fuck are you doing?" 

He jerks away from me, drops the toothbrush, pushing me back, trying to shift my weight away from the vicinity of him.

Now that my full frame is against him pinning him to the sink, my hand again finds his cock, now blooming.

His arm cocks back, and his elbow hits me full in the stomach. Growling, snarling at me.

Pushing his head down, I bend him over the sink, planting my thick, weighty cock between his ass crack. Careful, Sherlock, you're losing control.

          "Fucking stop," he yells, a leg of his kicking back and ineffectually trying to unbalance me.

His wriggling, threshing body pushes back strong and propels me away from him.

I catch hold of him around the waist this time, lift him up off his feet, squirming, kicking, punching. His back is against my chest, making it difficult for John to do much.

* * *

          "Mother fucker, cock sucker, damn shitter, stop this! Fuck do you think- how dare you!!"

          "It's about time John."

* * *

Propelling us forward as he flails, angry, every part of him jerking I shift us to the bedroom, flinging him on the bed face down, with quite a bit of force.

He, in a flash, turns, jumps up, and fist punches me in the face.

Right hand, left-hand slaps my open hand to his face hard enough to leave red marks. He manages still to stand up, punching me continuously to my stomach, as I try to restrain his arms.

* * *

Growling deep he tries to escape. I pull him back by the waist and shove him onto his back on the bed. 

Standing up instantly again I shove him down, framing my one hand around his now hard cock.

Surprise crosses his face. Both of us stop moving, sweat pouring from us, breaths coming in deep gasps.Gently, deliberately bending at the waist, watching his expression closely my face shifts down towards my hand and his cock.

* * *

Grabbing my curly hair, he pulls up and backward. I jump up as I yell in pain, my hand falling from his member to wrestle his fingers from my hair. 

He sits up and tries to escape as my left-hand holds his arm firmly and pushing with all my strength he again lands on the bed, this time on his stomach.

* * *

One hand and a knee hold him in place as I find the riding crop under the bed, bring it up, swing it around to hit John across his back.

The action so unexpected, he lurches, howls, screaming,"What the shitters, you dick!"

          "It's about time John."

* * *

As the whip hits him once, twice, he twitches, whimpers, cries out into the sheets, fisting them.

I'm taking in big gulps of air, my eyes filled with tears, as my hand continues to swing the crop over him.  
I don't know how long I whip, but I know his back is red with welts. What finally stops me is his silence.

* * *

I throw the crop on the bed and walk out of the room, my whole body heaving, quaking with the effort, the strength of my desire pounding in me.

* * *

At the sofa, I put on my trousers, pick up my dressing gown and wrap it around me, wiping the tears, trying to quiet my mind and body. My heart is torn to shreds. 

Did I do the right thing? Will he recognize that he loves me and utters those words out loud to me? And ask why I assaulted him just now?

I pick up a book, any book, finding my seat on the sofa. I open it but as many times as I try to focus the words blur. I'm panicky, fearful beyond belief.

* * *

I hear movement in my bedroom and John going up the stairs to his room.

* * *

Oh, I want to cry out, to beg forgiveness but I sit and wait for the inevitable whatever that may be.

Down the steps and sure enough, he totes a bag in his hand.

* * *

He opens the door to the outside, turns, puts the bag down, and with head hung low he scrutinizes, scowls at me.

* * *

I continue peering down at the book, pages open, can't look up.

          "You fucking piece of shit," he snarls low in his throat, "I thought- I imagined- why beat me when-" and then shakes his head no.

* * *

Picking up the bag he turns away from me.

Drops it again, stands there, body slumped, leans his head against the doorpost.

Turning back to me, I peer up and see tears down his cheeks.

* * *

Then, before I move he runs to me, his hands beating on my face, one at a time, sobbing, he pummels my head.

I don't try to move away but let the blows come.

His body slumps to the floor, and he leans against my legs the sobs deep, deep wetting my trousers.

* * *

I pat his hair.

          "It's about time John."

* * *

Slowly I move him away and sink down to the floor, my arms going around him, pressing his head into my chest.

All the while shushing him, kissing his hair, his forehead.

* * *

His breath is hiccupy.

I wipe his face with my hands so soft on him.

* * *

Looking up at me with such tenderness, such feeling he says "I love you, Sherlock."

          "It's about time John."


End file.
